


synergy

by LandlessBud



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Haitian Enjolras, Law Student Enjolras, M/M, Multi, Therapy, Ultime Fauchelevent is JVJ btw, yeah this is inspired by that one tweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:35:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29456844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LandlessBud/pseuds/LandlessBud
Summary: Enjolras can't seem to find a therapist. Luckily, Courfeyrac has two thumbs and a Craigslist account.
Relationships: Bahorel/Feuilly (Les Misérables), Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy/Éponine Thénardier, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	synergy

Enjolras hung up, flopping back on his bed and dropping his phone beside him. Scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms, he sighed. The jagged crack across the ceiling of his bedroom held no answers.

His door creaked open. Enjolras sat up. “No luck?” Courfeyrac asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Enjolras flopped back down. “No,” he groaned. “I didn’t think it’d be this hard. There have to be a ton of therapists out there, right? You’d think at least one would have an opening. It’s not like we live in the middle of nowhere.”

Courfeyrac hummed sympathetically. “Now that I think about it, I think I could call in a favor for you with someone.”

Enjolras bolted upright. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac replied. “It, uh, might be a bit unconventional, but I’ve heard good things about this one.”

“Wait.” Enjolras paused, contemplative. “If you’ve known about this therapist all along, why didn’t you tell me?”

“He, uh. His specialty isn’t quite what you were looking for, but since you seem to have no other options, I’ll give him a call and set something up for you,” Courfeyrac said before shutting the door and retreating to his own room across the hall.

Enjolras leaned against his headboard and picked his phone up, deciding to scroll through Twitter while he waited. He could handle unconventional. Besides, he had been told he needed to work on his flexibility with other people.

Several minutes later, someone knocked lightly on Enjolras’s door. “E?” Courfeyrac asked through the door.

“Come in, Courf,” Enjolras answered, still scrolling vehemently through Twitter.

Courfeyrac opened the door. “I got you in for this Wednesday evening at eight.” Before Enjolras had the time to interrupt, he continued. “Don’t worry, I checked your calendar. You should be free then. I’ll text you the address.”

Enjolras gave him a mute thumbs up.

Courfeyrac gently closed the door behind him.

Wednesday… Enjolras had five days to prepare himself. Adding the event to the Google calendar he shared with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, he returned to his work.

* * *

The little placard beside the office door read “Symmetrical Solutions.” Enjolras thought that an odd name for a therapist’s office, but Courfeyrac knew this man, so he pressed on. The waiting room was small but airy, with two pairs of chairs on opposite ends of the room. Some tall fake shrubs and a water dispenser hid each pair from the other’s view. It was 7:45 PM, and Enjolras was the only one there. He took a seat in one of the chairs closer to the other door in the room, which he assumed led into the therapist’s actual office. He fidgeted with his watch for a few minutes, trying to fight the urge to pull out his phone and scroll through Twitter again.

Enjolras needed something to placate his anxious mind, which he did indeed find ironic while waiting to meet his new therapist. Glancing around the room, he spotted a selection of tea bags and some paper cups next to the water dispenser. He wandered over to the tea bags and inspected them more closely. Six different brands of chamomile, and nothing else. Enjolras mentally scolded himself for thinking that a therapist would offer anything caffeinated. Still, with nothing better to do, he chose a tea bag at random, unwrapped it, set it in a paper cup, and stuck the paper cup under the hot water nozzle of the dispenser. He waited for a moment before realizing that he needed to actually press the button for hot water to actually come out.

Tea in hand, Enjolras sat back down on the chair he’d vacated. There were no clocks in the waiting room, so he took a look at his watch again. 7:53. Great. Seven whole minutes to drink his cup of chamomile tea, sate his anxiety, and wait. Enjolras sipped at his tea. It wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought it would be. Perhaps he could fill seven minutes with quiet sips at the tea.

Several minutes later, Enjolras took the last sip of his tea, tossing the cup and bag out in the little trash can next to the water dispenser. He checked his watch. 7:57. What did the universe have against him? He never knew fifteen minutes could be so long. He was proud of himself for having avoided Twitter the entire time, though. Enjolras settled back into his chair and decided to satisfy himself by literally watching the time tick away. 8:00 couldn’t arrive quickly enough.

Finally, the therapist’s door creaked open, and an older man peeked out. “Ah! You must be my 8:00. Come in, come in.” The therapist gestured into his office, and Enjolras willingly followed.

The office was clean and sparsely decorated, with a wide blue couch facing the chair the therapist had just sat down in. “Come, sit,” the therapist said, gesturing to the couch.

Enjolras sat in the middle and crossed one leg over the other. 

The therapist raised an eyebrow. “I assume your partner is running late?”

“What?” Enjolras didn’t understand. Courfeyrac had mentioned unconventional methods. Maybe this involved Courfeyrac, who wasn’t known for his punctuality, working with Enjolras. “Oh. He’s usually late. I’m sure he’ll be here in a few minutes.”

The therapist smiled gently and nodded. “While we wait for him, why don’t we introduce ourselves. I’m Ultime, and I’m your therapist.”

Enjolras relaxed a bit in Ultime’s comforting presence. “I’m Enjolras, and I’m a law student.”

“Ah, yes,” he replied. “Your friend mentioned you went by your last name.”

Enjolras nodded mutely.

A knock sounded at the door. Enjolras jumped in his seat. Valjean, measured, stood up and opened it partway, blocking Enjolras from sight (and, Enjolras supposed, whoever was there from seeing him).

“So sorry I’m late,” an unfamiliar baritone panted. “Missed the train. I hope I haven’t held things up too long?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Ultime said, opening the door all the way and beckoning to the stranger. “Enjolras and I were just getting started. You must be Grantaire?”

Enjolras could’ve sworn that time had frozen. This Grantaire, though rugged and covered in paint stains, looked as if he’d stepped out of Enjolras’s dreams. Enjolras would have to thank Courfeyrac for doing whatever the hell this was to him later.

“That’s me,” Grantaire replied, a small grin threatening to climb up one side of his face. “May I sit?”

Enjolras had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed Grantaire approaching the couch. Mutely, he nodded and slid over as Grantaire sat down beside him. Enjolras turned his head slightly to face his new couchmate. Grantaire smiled apologetically and took Enjolras’s hand in his.

Enjolras felt like he’d been electrocuted.

Ultime had closed the door and sat back in his seat while Enjolras was having his little revelation. “It’s so wonderful to meet you two. Welcome to Symmetrical Solutions, my couples therapy practice. Why don’t you start by telling me a little bit about yourselves and your relationship.”

Couples therapy?  _ Couples _ therapy? This was what Courfeyrac had signed him up for? Was Enjolras supposed to be dating the man beside him? Enjolras mentally rescinded the bouquet of roses he’d planned for Courfeyrac.

Luckily, while Enjolras had his crisis, Grantaire had begun weaving a tale of their shared history—they’d met in undergrad by chance in a gen ed, then found out they shared very similar friend groups and kept hanging out. They’d watched their friends pair (“and throuple,” a word Enjolras had never heard spoken aloud) off one by one until they were the only single people left in the group. (“Well,” Grantaire had added, “besides Jehan, who claims to be married to grad school, but I think that counts anyway.”) 

Enjolras watched Grantaire reverently. How was he doing this? Had he prepared this story beforehand? Also, what  _ did _ Grantaire know about him? Had Courfeyrac given him some sort of information? Did Courfeyrac know Grantaire? Was this Courfeyrac’s fucked up way of getting Enjolras to go on a date? Enjolras needed to focus. He could ask Grantaire these things later.

Grantaire had continued by noting that their friendship had always been a bit rocky (“I can be a pedantic asshole,” he’d said, receiving a concerned frown from Ultime) but that there had always been some sort of spark between them.

Spark. Enjolras desperately wanted to laugh. The longer he held Grantaire’s hand, the more electrified he felt. Was it because he’d been so touch starved that any touch at all felt like he was being pulled out of a whirlpool he didn’t know he’d been drowning in? Enjolras tuned back in to learn what exactly had transpired between Grantaire and himself over the fictitious six years they’d known each other.

Finally, Grantaire explained, he’d slipped up and told Enjolras that he’d had feelings for him. Enjolras saw an opportunity to jump in.

“I can be, uh…” Enjolras trailed off, thinking of the proper word. Grantaire squeezed his hand subtly and his brain short-circuited. “The way my friends put it is that I’m… emotionally constipated.”

Grantaire threw his head back in laughter as Ultime nodded seriously, jotting the comment down in his yellow notebook. “That’s one way to put it,” Grantaire joked back. He continued explaining that Enjolras had paused, calculated, and realized that he did indeed feel the same way.

Ultime smiled fondly, setting down his pen briefly. “And when did this all happen?”

Enjolras supposed that was a fair question for a real relationship. He figured that Grantaire had been doing so much of the heavy lifting that it was only fair that he’d step up for this question. “Three weeks ago.”

Ultime nodded, writing Enjolras’s answer down. “So what brings you in today?”

Enjolras could feel Grantaire tensing and squeezed his hand, hopefully conveying that he had this covered. “I’m a bit of a planner, personally, and I like to be prepared for any situation that could arise. So I, uh,” he scratched the back of his head to show uncertainty, “heard that therapy together is a good way to make a relationship last. And I want this one to.” Years of mock trial were paying off.

Grantaire seemed to have recovered from his mild aneurysm. “Also, we just didn’t want things to go south after we fought, since we don’t see eye to eye on everything.”

Enjolras realized this was his golden opportunity to tack on a little of why he  _ actually _ had been looking for a therapist all along. “I’m a bit of a workaholic, too, and I want to make sure that I keep this relationship healthy by learning to communicate better.”

They sat in silence for a moment as Ultime finished writing everything down. “All great reasons to come to therapy. Now, I’m afraid we’re going to have to get to the boring part—I’ve got a few forms for you two to fill out, and then you can be on your way.” Ultime went over to a large filing cabinet, pulling out pairs of papers from various manila folders within it. Before returning to his seat, he grabbed a couple of branded pens from a cup on top of the cabinet. He then handed one to Enjolras and the other to Grantaire, who finally had to let go of Enjolras’s hand to write.

“This form,” Ultime began, handing each of them a sheet of paper, “is my practice policies. Just sign it at the bottom once you’ve read it over.”

Enjolras nodded, reading the document carefully. His two years of law school had taught him to read every contract before signing it, as many people were wont to hide things inside them. Grantaire clicked his pen and signed the form clearly without having read it all the way. Enjolras took another minute to finish it, found no issues, and signed.

“Great, I’ll take those,” Ultime said, taking their forms. “I’ll just hand you both of these at once, since they’re a bit longer. This one’s for informed consent”—he handed each of them a small packet—“and this one’s a notice of privacy practices.” Ultime handed them each another packet. “Finally, here’s the insurance and billing form. My rates are listed there.” He gave them each one more double-sided sheet of paper and sat back. “I realize these will take you both a little while, so I’m going to run to the restroom quickly if you don’t mind.”

Enjolras, already absorbing the legalese, nodded without looking up. He could almost feel Grantaire doing the same.

About a minute after Ultime had left, Grantaire piped up. “Three weeks? Really?”

Enjolras hummed, still parsing through the consent form.

“You’ve never been in a relationship, have you?” Grantaire continued.

Enjolras sighed. “No. Look, I wasn’t making the workaholic thing up. But apparently this was the only therapist I could get an appointment with, and somehow you’re here because of my roommate who scheduled this for me, so you’re going to have to deal with me.”

Grantaire laughed, and even through his frustration, Enjolras enjoyed the sound. “I’d say you need therapy, but… I guess that’s where we are.”

Enjolras grumbled and turned back to his forms. He could feel Grantaire’s eyes on him.

Faintly, Enjolras could hear the outer door creak open. Grantaire began paging through the documents beside him quickly, scribbling his signature onto all the required lines. The office door opened, and Ultime stepped back in.

“Sorry about that,” he said, wandering back over to his chair. “Sometimes nature calls, you know?”

Enjolras snorted, grateful he’d just finished signing the first blank.

Grantaire suddenly started laughing. “I’m sorry—” he gasped, sides still heaving. “It’s just—I don’t know how I’d forgotten how childish your sense of humor can be.”

If Enjolras could’ve blushed, he would’ve.

Ultime chuckled like a proud father. “I’m glad to find someone who appreciates my jokes. My daughter always rolls her eyes at me.”

Enjolras looked up for a moment to return Ultime’s smile, then returned to the second document. Grantaire began making some light conversation with Ultime, as he’d already signed all of the documents.

Finally, after double- and triple-checking his understanding of HIPAA, Enjolras finished signing the forms and handed them back to Ultime.

“Thank you both for taking the time to stop in today. I’ll see you here again next week at the same time, if that sounds good?” Ultime said, sifting through their documents.

“That’s perfect,” Grantaire said, freeing Enjolras from any obligation of contributing to the conversation. “Thank you for fitting us into your schedule.”

Ultime tipped his head at them as they left the office. Enjolras followed Grantaire down the several flights of stairs and out into the street.

“What the hell is going on?” Enjolras asked. “Why were you at my therapy appointment? Why are we supposed to be a couple?”

Grantaire grimaced. “Look, Apollo—”

“My name’s Enjolras.”

“Enj—I’m sorry, I really have to run. I’d explain if I could,” Grantaire replied, turning to jog off.

“Wait!” Grantaire turned around. Enjolras took a deep breath. “Could I at least get your phone number so we can coordinate before next time?”

“Uh, sure,” Grantaire agreed, pulling out his phone and handing it to Enjolras with the messaging app open. “Send yourself a text.”

Enjolras typed his number in, then tapped out a quick “ _ therapy guy’s number _ ” as the message and hit send. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and handed Grantaire’s phone back.

“I’ll, uh, see you next week then,” Grantaire said before dashing off.

Enjolras had never felt so lost.

* * *

Enjolras slammed the front door of his apartment open. “HEY! COURF! WHAT THE FUCK?” he yelled, hoping his roommate was home. 

The door to Courfeyrac’s bedroom opened slowly, and he sheepishly stuck his head out. “Oh! E! You’re back! Great to see you, man. How was therapy?”

Enjolras hung up his coat on his hook near the door, feigning calm. “Oh, you know, fine. Totally wasn’t thrown off guard by it being couples therapy with a total stranger or anything. Where’d you find him, by the way?”

“Craigslist. He was the least asshole-ish person to answer my ad.”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “Courfeyrac. You’re telling me that you  _ hired someone to go to couples therapy with me on Craigslist _ ?”

“Yes?” Courfeyrac replied. “Look, I knew Fauchelevent was a couples therapist, but since you were so desperate I figured you’d take what you could get. I would’ve gone with you, but Ferre would’ve had my head for that. Plus I’m pretty sure the man would’ve realized we weren’t together in, like, thirty seconds. So how’s this Grantaire guy? I’m really curious.”

Enjolras huffed and stomped into his room, refusing to answer.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!!  
> big shoutout to [weisenbachfelded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weisenbachfelded) for listening to me cook up this idea, which was inspired by [this post](https://thenameislion-dandelion.tumblr.com/post/642039428502683648).  
> please please please leave a comment if you liked this, and like/rb [this post](https://landlessbud.tumblr.com/post/643162574530199552/synergy-by-landlessbud-enjolras-cant-seem-to-find) on my tumblr!


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